The land was dry and barren. It was cold.

I haven't been updating this thing much because I'm trying to concentrate on my book. I guess I'm just afraid I'll spend all my brain juices typing about all the stupid, pointless shit that happens in my day-to-day, and that I'll have none left to fill my quota. Not that any of it makes much difference, since I haven't added anything to my book since the year started. I was feeling sick as shit the first week of the year, and after that, I just kinda let life get in my way. I finally decided to get on with it again, but I'd been away from my story for too long. I read a book once that said that the longer you are away from your book, the longer it takes for you to get back into the pace of it. For example, say I'm writing a book, and then an emergency comes along, like my sister decides to pop her kid RIGHT NOW, and I miss a day of writing. Rule says, now it's gonna take me one whole day to get back into my story. Miss two days, takes you two days to get back. And so on and so forth. Shit, I've been away from my book for over twenty days. Well, shit.

He stood at the edge of the world and looked down into the gray pit.

The problem with getting back into the mood of things, is, well, my beginnings suck. In my opinion. And of all the places for the Dud to find a flaw, she finds it in the first paragraph. The rest of the story so far is fine, she assures me. But that first paragraph... hrm... something's just not right with it. And then of course, I reread it, and my brain falls apart. God, now I gotta write the whole thing ALL OVER AGAIN! Took me all week to figure out the new paragraph (I'm not joking here, I nitpick like hell), just so she can read that one and like it less than the original. Ow...! I'm getting a headache by now!

I know, I know, I'm being a whiner. But I think I finally got it right this time around. Time for me to go into my closet, cuddle under my patchwork quilt, maybe put on some Celtic music and make my way back into the Barren Lands to find Alenok or Andrew or whatever the fuck his name turns out to be. The Dud has read my shit, now it's time for me to do some rereading of my own.

Maybe, but probably not tonight. Remember what I just stated about real life getting in the way? Well, I've gotta sleep. The Dud wants to go to church early tomorrow for confession. I don't much care for that shit, but this coming Wednesday is P'fas's birthday, and then the Tuesday after that is his deathday. Two years. Seems less and more than that at the same time. I owe it to my old man. Even if I don't much believe in church, he did. A lot. And though I may be uncomfortable with the notion, and I may feel like a hypocrite doing it, I need to go... pray. I'm not sure if there's anything or anyone out there to hear my prayers, nor do I really care, but if anything, he deserves for me to go do that for him.

After killing him, it's the least I can do.